


In Good Hands

by voices_not_echoes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 01:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voices_not_echoes/pseuds/voices_not_echoes
Summary: When Jon receives his missive from Daenerys, and decides to go South, Sansa finds a way to stop him.





	In Good Hands

 

“Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone,” said Jon. “And I am going to accept.” Sansa inhaled  sharply , as he continued speaking.  _ No. _ There was too much at stake, too many people here who needed him.  _ I am one of them. _ His obsession with defeating the Others would destroy them all. No metal was worth this. She had thought, when she told him all this, that he had listened. How else could she express that he could not go?

 

“Daenerys has her own army and she has dragon fire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us.” He paused for a moment, looking at her instead of the assembled lords, as if he were trying to make her understand. She didn’t.  _ You are a fool, and you could die for your foolishness. _

 

“Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor tomorrow,”  _ Had Davos known of this? _ “Then sail for Dragonstone.” As he made his intent real, his actions real, she could hold her tongue no longer. No good thing happened when a Stark went south, and she would not lose another brother to the title of King in the North.

 

“Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?” she asked. Jon looked down, uncomfortable.  _ Let him be. _ “The Mad King invited him to King’s Landing and roasted him alive.”

 

“I know that,” Jon said, but it was not enough. Sansa clutched the arms of her chair.  _ How dare he act as though I have wronged him? _

 

“She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those Seven Kingdoms. This isn’t an invitation it’s a trap!” She struggled to remain calm and impartial, a reliable lady informing her king of the facts. She could not do it. He  was supposed to be her brother, he  was supposed to protect her, and yet he was  _ leaving. _

 

“It could be,” he said. She could think of no response. “But I don’t believe Tyrion would do that." His eyes beseeched her, but she would not yield. "You know him. He’s a good man.”

 

Lord Royce stood up to speak then, but she could not hear him through her outrage. To trust a man he had spent weeks with when he was a boy, a man who was a Lannister. It was unthinkable. True, Tyrion had treated her more kindly than Joffrey or Cersei, but he had married her all the same. He had not helped her escape King’s Landing, he had not stood for Robb or helped her mourn, not  truly . He was a jailer, like all the rest. Only a kind-faced one.

 

She began hearing again when Lady Mormont spoke.

 

“Winter is here, Your Grace,” she said. “We need the King in the North in the North.” Jon inhaled  deeply , his eyes sad. Had he been any other man, she might have wondered if he had changed his mind. She didn't wonder. Jon was stubborn to  be swayed so  easily .

 

“You all named me your king. I never wanted it, I never asked for it. But I accepted it, because the North is my home. It’s part of me and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds." He paused, as his passionate speech changed to warning. "But the odds are against us. None of you have seen the army of the dead, none of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies.” He turned to look at her. “I know it’s a risk. But I have to take it.”  _ No, no, no. _ A down to earth speech from the heart had always been the way to spur Northerners to action. They could not  be allowed to support this. Sansa started from her chair, the legs scraping against the stone floor.

 

“Then send an emissary, don’t go yourself!” Jon sighed again, brooding as ever. She could have shaken him

 

“Daenerys is a queen. Only a king can convince her to help us.” He was abandoning them, abandoning his people, his home.  _ Abandoning me. _ She wanted to scream it at him, to make him see sense. But, she realized with sudden clarity, that was not ld make him see sense .

 

“No,” she said. He turned to her, puzzled. “There is another who could go.” She turned to the assembled lords.

 

“Your king  shall stay in the North, where he belongs. In his place  shall go an emissary who is his closest equal in station. An emissary who knows the potential allies she greets, who is a Lady of Winterfell and a Princess of the North.” She breathed.

 

“Jon Snow will stay in Winterfell, where he belongs. And I will go to Dragonstone.”

 

The lords clamored in opposition.

 

There were some who opposed the idea of a woman negotiating on their behalf. "Should she wait at home then? And leave us kingless? Or would you prefer a king for your emissary and the lady you've insulted for your regent?" said Lyanna Mormont. They stopped their yammering then.

 

There were some who opposed Sansa leaving the North, those loyal friends who would not see Winterfell without a Stark .. Lord  Manderly , loudest of all, wanted her to remain, wanted her to be safe at home, where he could protect her. The sentiment was sweet, and Sansa appreciated it  deeply .  She could not bow to it, and so after assurances of a large guard, consisting of large numbers of White Harbor men, he too complied .

 

Some of the most ardent supporters of her staying to rule were Vale lords.  Though the lot of them had sworn their swords to Jon, Sansa and Jon both knew that the Vale had come for her, who was Sweetrobin’s cousin and who Lord Baelish would make his queen . Some of them were  truly loyal.  Some of them were snakes, like Baelish himself, trying to make sure they were at advantage, that it was only a young girl who ruled the land they lived in and not a battle-hardened commander .

 

Then there was Jon. He wanted to protect her, she knew. He might have given her the North, for he never  truly saw it as his own. He wanted her safe, he wanted a Stark in Winterfell as much as she did. But  _ he _ was a Stark. The North was his home, his own. Risking him to a Targaryen would be unbearable, to the North and to Sansa.  _ It is my turn to protect you. _

 

One by one she convinced them, reasoning through their protests until Jon  was forced to accept . When they dismissed the court, she remained. So did Jon and Davos. The older man was a welcome addition in Sansa’s eyes, a way to keep both of them civil. Jon did not see it the same way.

 

“Leave us,” Jon growled, only looking at Ser Davos from the corner of his eye.The landed knight who was once a smuggler only bowed  deeply , and exited . She was sure there was a look of relief on his face as he left. Sansa turned to Jon, displeased regardless of Davos' pleasure.

 

“He is your Hand, Jon. And he was Stannis’ Hand before yours. Afford him the respect that his status demands.”  Jon whirled around and slammed his hands down on the table in front of her, Sansa finally able to see the true anger in his eyes .

 

“You could wait to consult me on how I should speak to Davos, but not on whether you would like to go South to negotiate with a queen with three dragons ?” Sansa moved back, away from her chair and the table and Jon, running a hand through her hair in frustration.  _ How dare he?  _ She waited for her anger to abate, as it  normally did, so she could return to being the voice of reason. It didn't.

 

“I didn’t wait to consult you.” She breathed in, then out again, hands curling and uncurling at her sides. “ _ I  _ didn’t consult  _ you _ !” Sansa spun around, stalking around the table to stand face to face with him. She jabbed her finger at his chest.

 

“You planned to go to Dragonstone, without consulting me or Davos, or even considering the dangers .” Her finger dug into his chest with each word, her voice raising in pitch and volume. “You are the king, you’re needed here, you’re abandoning us-”

 

He grabbed her hand, shaking his head in frustration. “I knew you could have done all this." She snatched her hand back and went to move away. He didn't let her.

 

"Done all what?"

 

"Rule!" He touched her face, his anger seeming to lessen. "Don't you see? They would never need me if they had you. You’re my sister, Sansa, you’re the most important person in all the North to me-”

 

“I am nothing!” she cried. He froze and pulled away from her.

 

“You are the Lady of Winterfell,” he said, in the voice of someone who had always wanted it.

 

“And you are the King in the North.” Looking at his face, the anger drained away from her. She threw her arms around his neck in an embrace. “The North cannot lose you.” She kissed his shoulder. “And neither can I.”  Reluctantly , he came to hold her too, kissing the top of her head.

 

“How can I know for sure that you are safe, Sansa, if you are so far away? I promised I would protect you.” She smiled against his furs. Despite her assurances in that tent before the Battle of the Bastards, she knew it to be true. Jon had always done his best to protect her.  He had gathered the North together for her and Rickon, he had beat Ramsay into the ground, half for rage at Rickon’s death and half for rage at what had  been done to her . Jon had offered her the Lord’s Chambers, he had almost offered her the North  just now, before she had stopped him.  She suspected that he hated Baelish, despite his usefulness,  solely for the manipulations and humiliations that man had put her through . Jon was her greatest protector, her greatest friend.  It was only fitting that he was her King, even if sometimes her heart ached to think that these people she had lost everything in hopes of returning to had rejected her for her brother .

 

“Wherever I travel you will protect me,  solely by my status as your sister.” She pulled herself out of his arms  in order to give him a look of reassurance, touching his face. “When I was Lady Bolton, I could not have left Winterfell without threat of my death. As Lady Stark, sister to the King in the North, I will  be greeted with trumpets and singing and feasts.” She grinned as a thought came into her head. “And I should think the armies you will send with me will do a fair job at protection.” He smiled at her too then, gentle.

 

“If that is protection, it is not I who protect you but Father’s reputation and Robb’s crown, coming to save us from beyond the grave .” Tears formed in Sansa’s eyes, and she  hastily wiped them away.

 

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose it is.”

 

* * *

 

It was the day of her departure, and she felt the loss already.  A keen wailing in her bones, the same that had sounded every day after her father’s death and had quieted with her return to Winterfell . It was home that had saved her, family that had saved her. And it was her father that had broken her. It was only fitting that she would exit home again seeing his face,  perhaps for the last time.

 

As she stared up at the crypt, she touched his face, gentle. It wasn’t a good likeness. There were few people in the North who had known her father well enough to correct it.  There was a pain in her soul at the thought that, in generations to come, her children's children would never know her father’s true face . Never know that smile he had given them when they had done well, nor the way he had tussled Arya’s hair. She could not be angry for herself though. There was a shrine to her father yet, a living, breathing model of his face, so that she could never forget him. Sansa was grateful to Jon for many things, but that was the greatest of them.

 

She heard the sound of boots, echoing as they walked down the hall, and she drew back from her father, standing at a distance that was more respectable . A distance she was more comfortable with a stranger seeing. When she turned to see the source of the noise, though, it was not a stranger.

 

“What are you doing here, Lord Baelish?” she asked. He smiled in that way that sent chills down her spine and stepped towards her.

 

“I wished to say farewell to you, my lady.” He took another step towards her, and she stepped back, towards her father’s tomb.  _ He should not be here. _

 

“Farewell then,” she replied, and tried to walk past him. He grabbed her by the shoulder, turning her towards him, bringing her closer. It reminded her of her time in the Vale, in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She turned her head away, not wanting to look into his eyes as he spoke.

 

“I had other things to say as well,” he said, taking her by the chin and forcing her gaze into his.  Her first instinct was to shrink away, as it always was, but instead she forced herself to stand taller, to look into his eyes without hesitation .

 

“What are they, Lord Baelish? Speak your mind.”  He drew back for a breath, then seemed to shake the fear off him, looking at her as he always did in those moments when he had called her Cat .

 

“Sansa, I love you.” He paused, smiling in a manner he likely thought was charming. “And I would marry you, if you would have me.” Sansa was frozen, her breathing heavy. _Married again, and to the man who sold me to Ramsay._ Her heart began to speed up at the thought of her last marriage, old pains rising new again, as if she were still in Robb’s old bedroom, locked away, knowing Ramsay could come at any moment. She had drawn strength from Robb then, and she could do the same now. She inhaled deeply and tucked her fear close to her chest. _Married again?_ _I think_ _not._

 

“I have something I must tell you, Lord Baelish, something you must know if you think you can pursue a suit with me.” She gathered herself up to her full height, realizing  suddenly that she was taller than him. That while she wore the cloak Jon had given her and he  merely wore the robes of a Vale lord, she was bigger than him as well. It gave her strength.

 

He seemed to notice her fierceness then, that smarmy, nostalgic smile dropping off his face .  Perhaps he was afraid.  _ He should be. I am the Lady of Winterfell, and I am a wolf. _

 

“My brother blames you for what I underwent at Ramsay’s hands.” He tried to cut her off, but she silenced him with a hand. “ _ I _ blame you, for what I underwent at Ramsay’s hands.” She took a step towards him, and as she did, he stepped back.

 

“Jon will protect me, always. If you try to come near me again, claiming your great love, he will tear you apart.” Another step. “Or  perhaps Ghost will.” One step more, and she was closer to him than she had ever been without kissing him, her lips a breath away from his ear. “Or  perhaps , I’ll do it myself.”

 

As he stood there in shock, some realization dawning in his eyes, she stepped away and whirled around, looking at her father’s tomb once more before she ascended back into the land of the living .

 

Coming out of the tombs, she climbed onto the horse she had had prepared for her, Brienne and Pod waiting beside her. She supposed Tyrion would be happy to see them, or at least to see Pod. Jon stood on a balcony, staring at her as she rode out the gate.  She could not stop herself from looking back at him, the most important part of home, and when she found him smiling at her, the happy, fluttery feeling in her chest kept her from maintaining her dignity as she gave him a tiny wave back, with a small smile to  accompany it .

 

She was leaving her home, true. She was leaving her heart with it. But, she thought, she was older and wiser than the first time she had left Winterfell. This time, she left both in good hands.

 


End file.
